


Febuwhump 2021

by the_jade_princess



Category: Lego City Adventures (Cartoon), Lego Ninjago
Genre: Blood and Injury, Character Death, Fire, a bunch of "angst" for my favorite legos, but it's not a treat, each chap should have the proper warning, lmk if i'm missing any warnings!, they can have a little sadness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 02:40:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 28
Words: 15,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29271147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_jade_princess/pseuds/the_jade_princess
Summary: I decided to do this on a whim, launching myself into the prompt list with no idea what I was doing. I wanted to try and limit myself to 500 words while still exploring what makes certain Lego franchises... break. Did I succeed? You be the judge. (I did fail the word count bit, so it's more-or-less 500 words, but please, enjoy...)
Relationships: Cliff Gordon/Jay Walker's Mother, Cole/Zane (Ninjago), P.I.X.A.L. (Ninjago)/Alessa
Kudos: 17





	1. "mind control" - ninjago

A light hums as the scientist opens the door to his workstation. The solitude of an icy forest lair means his only companions are the project and the half-dead moth circling the dying bulb. 

He uncovers the project to gaze upon its inner tangle of wires and switches.

The power to create is not one the scientist takes lightly. No, never. It must be regarded with caution, care taken to every step to ensure its success. To create may lead to destruction, and too many losses may drive one mad. 

Is there really peace in death?

The scientist reconnects a wire, fusing together electricity and control. He’s already taken steps to ensure the project won’t remember its beginnings, but still, he habitually checks the memory wipe program once more.

The project reawakens. 

“I am Echo Zane, built to protect those who cannot protect themselves. Where am I?” 

The scientist records the data onto a small pad. Vocals are clearly working, and the other systems seem to be coming online according to his other monitor.

Unfortunately, the scientist’s code seems to have been overridden by some higher command. It could be worse; at least he’s figured out how to switch the project on without breaking it. 

Despite the obvious failure, this is a moment of marvel, of wonder! The scientist should celebrate!

Instead, he sternly looks at the project, internally admiring the craftsmanship of another maker. How did one, who lived in a reality devoid of modern technology create _two_ intricate robots?

“Initiate Project: Mr. E.” 

The project hums, its power source glowing dangerously. Static lines of power feed into another monitor, slowly suppressing its element. Code feeds into the machine, pouring strands meant to destroy the machine’s original nature.

“Password Required.” The voice loses its personality, reverting to a default never intended to work alongside the program.

The scientist grins. He’s redone the works of da Vinci. What stops him from doing more? He wields power, dangerous power. His commission is for one, but what if he offers an army? The Quiet One was clear, but imagine-

“Password: The Quiet One.”

“Administrator Detected. Downloading Data.”

How does it feel to be controlled? How does it feel to have yourself stripped away, erased with a command similar to a backspace? How does it feel to die in such a primitive way?

The eyes glow. The colors are reset. 

The scientist licks his lips and presses the test sequence button, carefully documenting each response as thoroughly as possible. Science is a careful process.

The project is not aware what the picture crumpled in the bin represents. The project is not aware of any past life or any brother. The project is not aware it’s referred to as “ _the_ project” versus “the _scientist’s_ project”. The project is not aware its name has been stolen again.

Somewhere in a junkyard, some of the project’s old parts lay rusting. The mark of its true maker is imprinted in its chest, awaiting the inevitable molten death.


	2. "i can't take this anymore" - ninjago

The Jade Princess walks through the halls, frowning at her predecessors’ judgmental faces. She stops at one in particular; the prior Jade Princess meets her eyes with a steady, intense glare, almost mocking her “unfit” replacement.

Harumi twists her recently bleached hair self-consciously (the chemicals still smell), then continues her stroll, escaping the calls of her inevitable lesson on diplomacy.

She ducks into an alcove and faces her inaccurate reflection. The little blonde girl, so innocent and naïve of her freedom is gone, replaced by a white-haired figure of tradition, forced to paint herself with a title she never wanted. The adoption was a curse.

She toys with the idea of cutting her hair and running away. She could handle herself, right? She could live like the stories she so adored; such a fantasy couldn’t be all that difficult to acquire? As pitiful as it sounds, she could eat garlic noodles whenever she wanted, released from the demands of symbolism… right?

But then the plan won’t work.

She stands straighter and checks her makeup, meticulously plucking a stray eyelash from her porcelain cheek. Much better. Her regality flickers; the icy stare momentarily wavers.

Swiftly, she turns and floats down the hall, the dead weight of skirts reminding her of the freedom she found in her other, better, persona. The name she created, a legacy she’ll preserve, from the shadows of responsibility and deception. 

Her tutor grimaces at her tardiness, then launches into a lesson on diplomacy, trying to color a naturally dull lecture with allusions to chess. 

The boredom calls her thoughts away, dragging them into the scheme. She’s better than this life; she’s a rising phoenix embodying a dying dream, fueled by the power of Oni lore and venomous hatred. The poetry sweeps her farther away.

The calling pulls her into the temple, the dusty structure hiding underneath the palace, waiting to unleash Ninjago’s true father and savior, ready to strip the _so-called Green Ninja_ of his false title with a simple dark spell. So primitive.

“Stop smirking and sit straight. One must always remain cool and poised, listening for the slightest change in mannerisms that could cost your kingdom or present an opportunity for compromise.” The tutor can barely stop from rolling his eyes at his student.

Still, Harumi straightens and dons what she hopes translates as her iciest stare, suppressing passive-aggressive comments on his teaching style. The fool _will_ learn his place; he raises himself above her because he was called to train her, but soon. 

Soon?

She can’t take this pressure or perfection anymore than the Green Ninja will withstand her plans to wreck him apart. It’s seemingly airtight, but…

She reevaluates it with a weighty madness. Is it secure? Is it right? Will he suffer the way she did? There’s no room for the slightest miscalculation or human error. She _must_ succeed where others have failed. She mentally paces, inspecting every step and the record of everyone involved.

She’s certainly not getting any sleep tonight.


	3. "imprisonment" - ninjago

The shuffling of an excited crowd ready for action floats through the thin dressing room walls, calling to Jay and reminding him he’s on in ten.

But Jay’s not there. The mirror lights flicker.

Physically, he’s in his makeup chair, the palette and brush still open. His desk is littered with notes about the newest contestant, about her children and her history as the head of the PTA. A photo stands stoically, happier times lost to the abyss of grief; it reflects the curled shape of the television host cruelly.

Mentally, Jay’s back on the team, showing up late to sunrise exercise.

\---

Kai asks him if he enjoyed his beauty rest, despite having slid into the lesson barely on time himself, only awoken by Cole accidentally dropping his scythe. Cole breaks the Swooping Crane position; he’s snickering and expertly poking Kai with a similar remark on beauty rest.

Zane deadpans sarcastically to all of them, remaining rigid in a perfect copy of Sensei’s example, and reminds Jay that ninja never rest, nor do they stay up late to binge Fritz Donnegan.

A sharp word from Sensei forces everyone to refocus. No one wants to clean the bathroom today, not when it’s their one afternoon out and their only chance for a month to stock up on necessities. 

\---

Jay can still taste the cake they bought from the old lady. Three amazing layers of chocolate paired with a light and airy strawberry crème. Do his teammates still go there sometimes?

No. He won’t think about them.

\---

Nya walks into the lesson, carrying parts for her secret project. She’s refused to tell Jay what it is, even though she’s occasionally asked him for help. 

She tells Sensei and the guys she’ll be out for a bit, pausing to wink at Jay. She’s got dark circles under her eyes, but still looks absolutely… Perfect.

Everyone snickers as she walks off. Jay knows his face is burning, but he doesn’t care. Let them laugh; at least he’s found his eventually-to-be Yang much sooner than those single pringles have. And she even likes him back!

\---

With a slight _screetch!_ the desk drawer barely opens. The pendant’s still there, alongside a wilting rose. 

Since quitting the team, he’s relived his memories millions of times. Sometimes, he’ll still wake up for sunrise exercise, only to wonder why he’s in a shabby apartment working for a half-decent reality TV show, and not bunked underneath a snoring Cole.

Snoring doesn’t really cut the death noises Cole makes. 

_ Made.  _ He corrects himself again. He pushes the drawer closed as a manager busts in to tell him he’s on in five, and to remind him, yet again, he needs to remember who the contestant is, and that he needs to fly a little higher as he whooshes over the audience.

The manager leaves – the door’s still open a crack – but Jay doesn’t care.

He covers the picture and stares at the face of the television host. Somewhere underneath, lies Jay Walker, master of lightning and protector of Ninjago. Somewhere underneath, he hasn’t given up on his ninja-ing.

But today?

He has a job. He has to pay the bills. And he can’t face everyone, not after losing Zane. Even if it means… not being with Nya. Or with his friends. Or using his power to save the world, fighting alongside his…

His family.

Jay’s trapped in memories on repeat, masked by layer upon layer of stage makeup and a bucketload of crunchy hairspray. The mirror lights flicker. Time ticks by, counting further and further down to showtime.


	4. “don’t try to pin this on me” (alt) - ninjago

“You’re back.”

Ronin hands the boy a filled cup. The boy studies it, mocha eyes stormy. Ronin polishes an aeroblade, waiting for the boy’s reaction.

_ CraASh. _

The cup shatters against the wall, water dripping down from the impact spot. Shards glint in the crude lighting. It’s a waste of a perfectly good cup, but the boy needs to vent. Give him five minutes, and he’ll get to the point.

Ronin continues polishing the aeroblade. 

With his good eye, he studies the tantrum, trying to remain passive. The hotheaded boy smacks aside the table’s contents; the polish globs on the ground like dark matter and weapons pierce through the ancient floorboards.

_ And, **time**. _

“Why didn’t it work? You told me-” he stops to wipe away streaming tears with an impatient hand. “You told me-” he can’t finish his sentence without breaking down. He clutches the counter as if he can flip it. “You. _You_ told _me_.”

“I said it ‘might’ work, Kai.” Ronin pushes a tissue box over to the firebrand. The box succumbs to gravity with a flat _thud_. 

Ronin tries to be stony. But that spell? That was his last, not-really-as-dangerous-as-it-sounds idea. He’s seen it in action, and it normally works. Why would this time-

Oh.

He turns to put the aeroblade away, not daring to turn around. Kai’s already too upset, but…. “It’s better off if you accept that she’s gone.”

He winces at the coldness of the statement and at the volley of language Kai unleashes, cursing every bit of Ronin’s ideas, professions, and character. Ronin grabs another blade, only to remember that the polish is on the floor.

“No. There’s always something. What is it? I can take it! I’m strong.” Kai pounds the counter with each syllable. But Ronin knows it doesn’t matter. 

“I _promised_.”

Ronin stands, blinking away useless, _useless_ crocodile tears. He knows all about The Promise. He knows all about Kai’s loyalty to his little sister. He knows all about the foolish, _so utterly foolish_ , dealings their parents made with destiny. 

No one can change destiny. Why did so many think they’d be the first?

“SHE’S GONE.” Ronin didn’t mean to yell, didn’t mean to hurt Kai. He didn’t mean to hurt his son-figure, or let him down after years of searching. But maybe it’s better this way. Maybe Kai will learn what Ronin didn’t.

The Underworld has its rules.

“NO.” Ronin watches, helplessly, as Kai’s entire body shakes with anger and fear and grief. He watches as Kai yells again, grabbing a knife and miserably missing his target. He watches as Kai slumps over the counter, howling.

“Don’t try to pin this on me.” Ronin turns and walks into the back room.

Even the thick door can’t block out every scream. 

Ronin opens the desk drawer. There’s a picture of the two siblings, both smiling and laughing because they were _together_ , even if they were impoverished and abandoned on the streets, and the only one who cared about their welfare being a miserable thief.

Underneath the picture lays another, alongside a golden pendent. 

The happy couple torn apart years ago, lost to the same pain. Ronin knows the rituals and spells all too well. The grief and stubbornness are all too familiar. Kai’s ranting is the product of yet another falling prey to debts and false promises.

Ronin shuts the drawer determinedly, brushing aside the stream from his eye. If he had the chance, he’d give much more than an eye. Much more than the pain and torment that haunts him every night and day.

But the Underworld has its rules.


	5. "take me instead" - ninjago

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> character death mention!

Wu strains, grabbing the crystal with newfound ferocity. He won’t lose his student again. The Preeminent can’t take Morro with her merciless end; she won’t kill him alongside her other unworthy subjects, countless names lost to rewritten tumultuous history. 

Again.

Wu’s muscles burn and his shoulder aches from age and battles. Morro’s scared face stares at him, almost pleading for love and recognition as his once prized student. Emotions race through inky black eyes, faster than Wu can read them. 

Wu has to save his student from a destiny he was responsible for.

Again.

Wu leans farther over, torso screaming for him to straighten. His back pops and waves of pain dance through his body. When will they rest? When will they ever rest? “I won’t let you go, Morro. Not again.”

For a moment, Morro is young. Eyes full of promise and potential. The face of the first green ninja erases ghostly skin. The starved orphan, the one motivated by a burning desire to bear the title, doesn’t know his future. The ghostly tales he’s read are mere stories, fantasies from another age. They still scare him.

The moment passes. Peace replaces passion in the eyes that have seen a thousand futures. The face bears the weight of centuries of death, punishment for the vengeful. The orphan has found a future, knows now is his ending. The ghostly tales are far too real, and Morro is the conduit for linking multiple centuries of vengeance under one ruthless reign. 

Morro gives a faint nod. Wu can see the acceptance bringing stinging peace.

Again.

“Take me instead,” Wu demands of no one. He brought his first student down a path of unceasing torment and forever longing for purpose that could’ve been avoided if Wu hadn’t made a mistake.

Again.

Wu now holds the Realm Crystal and watches as his student disappears, the master of wind’s body pulled underneath cold, unforgiving waters, and dissipates as an unnatural mist. The student dies a second time, leaving his master to mourn another century.

Again. 


	6. "insomnia" - lego city adventures

So far, the night remains quiet.

It’s Duke’s thirty-first night shift in a row, and there’s nothing more than the occasional pigeon and Ms. Blumfeld on her evening walk. Even New Car is starting to drift off; Duke’s narrowly avoided Mr. Producci’s stand three times tonight.

But good can’t rest.

Duke yawns slightly, and his sunglasses slide back onto his eyes. He has to stay awake; Lego City has only New Car, the Cubby Balloon, and him to protect their slumbers and every waking hour from crime. He sips his cold coffee and turns the corner, headlights illuminating a sleeping citizen.

“Harl?” Duke pulls up next to Tippy’s apartment where Harl lays buried under blanks on where the mat should be, happily dreaming away with his wrench on top of an inflatable mattress.

Harl yawns and rubs his eyes. “Duke! How can I Harl you? I mean, _help_ you?”

“What are you doing in front of Tippy’s apartment?” Duke stops New Car from drifting onto the sewer grate and earns a little giggle from Harl.

“Tippy asked me if I could fix his oven, but I forgot my keys. He’s not home right now, so I’m waiting for him!” He gestures to his toolkit and rings Tippy’s door. No response. “What are you doing on your thirty-first night shift?”

“Not much, but the city needs me. You should get back home and rest; I’m sure Tippy won’t mind.” Duke opens the side door with a shoulder roll. Harl frowns.

“I guess I could leave him a note. Thanks, Duke!” Harl quickly produces a notepad from who-knows-where and scribbles a message, sealing it with wax and gracefully leaving it in Tippy’s mailbox. Speedily, he packs up his makeshift bed and climbs into the passenger seat. “To the junkyard!”

Duke tries to step on it, but New Car refuses to go much faster than half the speed limit.

“I think New Car needs some sleep.” Harl pats New Car’s dashboard and points to the bed graphic on the display. “It’s not healthy to stay up so late so often.”

“Uhm. But you do.” Duke can’t count the times he’s found Harl working on a new project in the moon and lamplight, happily clanking away so the recipient can wake up to a surprise. He turns the corner (again, narrowly missing Mr. Producci’s stand) and Harl shrugs.

“I take naps during the day when I’m not helping, in addition to four hours of uninterrupted sleep each night. I can adjust your bed to be even comfier! Do you want it to rock? Or maybe play lullabies?” He digs through his toolbox and calls out new ideas.

“Thanks, but no. Someone has to keep this city safe from night thieves and bad dreams, and that someone is me.” He stops in front of Harl’s Helping Hut.

“It never hurts to take a break. Even _I_ have to say no to some projects so I can sleep. Are you sure you don’t want any help?” Harl gestures to a wall of supplies in his hut and not-so-subtly points out a new mattress.

“My shift is almost over. I only need two hours of sleep anyway.” Duke prepares to drive away when Harl hands him a coffee cup.

“Thank you for keeping the city safe. At least take a fresh cup of coffee!” Harl bounces off to bed with a sleepy giggle. 

Duke shrugs and readjusts his sunglasses. “Looks like it’s you and I again, New Car. One last patrol?” He sips the oddly powerful brew and tries to peal out of the junkyard, but again, New Car isn’t up to it just yet. 

New Car mumbles something suspiciously like “fake snarl has lice”. Duke shakes his head and refocuses on the empty streets with a stifled yawn. 

He has to keep the city safe. Then, maybe, he can rest.


	7. "poisoning" - lego city adventures

“Now I’ll finally be able to get rid of Sinclair once and for all!” Fendrich maliciously cackles and scribbles a mustache on his defaced portrait of his arch rival. He squints. Maybe he needs to get Sinclair to sit for a new portrait, _then_ go through with his plan. 

“Uhm, boss? Isn’t this going a little far?” Hacksaw stands and fiddles with his fingers. “I mean, I know Mary Sinclair is your enemy, but doesn’t poisoning seem a little… drastic?”

Vito grunts in agreement. 

“It’s not _deadly_ poison, just a temporary case of upset stomach and rashes to get her out of the game for a bit. Once I take over the city, she’ll get the antidote and she can return as a normal citizen. I still need her around, you know. It’s good business.” Fendrich hands everyone the dinner schedule and guest list. “And do remember to dress nicely! This is a dinner party, not a buffet.”

“Aw, but I like buffets.” Frankie whines a little. Fendrich glares at him.

\----

“Does this suit look okay?” Hacksaw tries to adjust the jacket over his prison stripes. “I should’ve gone with something else.”

“You look fine. Now get out there and serve the food.” Fendrich shoves him with a small growl. “And remember, the poisoned bowls are marked with sticky notes.”

Hacksaw picks up the tray and shuffles around the table, doing his best to make sure everyone’s comfortable. He compliments everyone’s outfits and graciously offers them some dinner, doing his best to pretend he’s serving _everyone_ non-tainted food.

When it’s his turn to serve Mary, he smiles and turns to the tray. “Oh no.” 

“Is there a problem?” Mary frowns at him.

He nervously passes her a bowl. “N-no problem. Enjoy your meal!” He then tiptoes over to his seat and serves himself with a grimace.

Fendrich stands and rubs his hands menacingly. “I’m sure you’re all wondering why I’m hosting this dinner. I’ve decided to-”

As Fendrich rambles, Hacksaw stares at his salad, his stomach knotting. Did he serve Mary the right one? Is _he_ about to be poisoned? He doesn’t want to be poisoned, maybe he’s worrying over nothing? 

He takes a bite as Fendrich finishes and stares across the table. Mary seems to be doing okay, although her natural resting face in Fendrich’s presence is one of constant disapproval. But she doesn’t seem to be sick, which means….

Hacksaw groans and flops on the floor. He can barely register Vito, Big Betty, and Frankie’s faces staring worriedly at him as someone calls for an ambulance. To say his stomach hurts is an understatement, and as he drifts off into unconsciousness, he wonders if Fendrich was lying about the “not that bad of a poison” bit.


	8. “hey, hey, this is no time to sleep” - ninjago

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> character death and slight blood mention!

Cole holds Zane tenderly, fluid seeping through his fingers and pooling menacingly on the ground. Cole has to be strong; he has to stop an inevitable ( _no, it’s not inevitable. Stop thinking like that. He’s going to make it. He always does_ ) death until Nya or Jay can arrive and patch Zane up, good as new. 

Zane mumbles something Cole can’t understand. Why can’t Cole understand it? Zane’s slipping away into unconsciousness and Cole’s the only one to stop him. Why Cole? Why is there so much fluid? How could a simple stab wound be so… dangerous? 

And why doesn’t Cole know anything about repairing robots beyond how to speed dial people who do?

Zane closes his ice blue eyes, breathing raggedly. 

“Hey.” Cole taps Zane lightly. His eyes flutter open, red seeping into their bright display. The error message nearly makes Cole vomit. What’s taking Jay and Nya so long? Where could they possibly be?

Zane’s eyes close again as Zane tries to whisper a scrambled message. 

“Hey.” Cole can barely see through his tears. He tries to smile, tries to be brave. Zane was brave. Zane took the stab for Cole. Cole knows humans can’t be repaired as easily as nindroids can.

He also knows Zane’s died and come back every other time. Why would this one be different? Why would Zane’s _real_ last moments be caused by a low-tiered criminal that spooked the two a little on their patrol?

But what if- what if something went wrong? 

What if each death hurt Zane more and more, corrupting his code until there was no Zane left? What if now, Zane watches error messages flood his vision, telling him it’s the end, but Cole, what if dumb, darned Cole didn’t realize it until too late? What if Cole’s not helping?

Zane sputters a little, a vent releasing hot steam to warm the chilly air. That’s normal, right? Doesn’t Cole’s ancient computer do that sometimes? It can’t mean anything too bad, can it? One of Zane’s hands begins to twitch. Zane’s eyes stay closed.

“Thi- this is no time to-o sleep.” Cole tries to summon an ounce of Kai’s cocky bravery. Why did Kai get all the bravery?

Zane’s lips form a shaky smile. Cole laughs softly. He readjusts his hands, trying to support Zane’s heavy fragile head and put pressure on his wound. Is putting pressure making it worse? But is losing too much fluid bad?

Cole doesn’t know. He’s too lost. He doesn’t- he doesn’t know enough. 

The fluid seems to be slowing down, but is that really a good thing? Cole needs to do _something_. How did his mother sooth his wounds? What was the lullaby? The fading memory dances out of reach, obscured by his hazy mind.

“ _I love you_ ,” Zane whispers. His hand touches Cole’s cheek lightly. 

Cole’s vision tunnels and every sound seems muffled. Someone’s calling his name in the background, but it doesn’t matter. Cole doesn’t care. 

Zane’s body turns stiff and his hand drops. 

Was it the last time Cole would hear those words?


	9. "buried alive" - ninjago

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> someone gets momentarily crushed by bricks

On the last block, Jo said goodbye to Nelson and continued to their home alone, anticipating nothing more than a fresh plate of plantains and an evening filled with sibling shenanigans and homework. 

To see a crowd blocking them from their destination was surprising.

In all technicalities, they’re not supposed to stray off the designated path (something their parents lovingly lecture them about often), but they’re also not supposed to mingle in large crowds without an adult. Shrugging, they turn onto a side street.

Right when the bricks fall. Everything goes dark.

They have to get out. They claw at the bricks desperately, eyes stinging from dust. They cough violently. Small hands shove bricks aside as best they can, still pulsing with pain from the impact. _Where’s the light? Which way is up?_

Somewhere, somewhere outside, they can hear people calling to them.

But their vision is shaky and they’re losing breathable air. Adrenaline meets leaden hands and frantic kicks, scrambling rat-like noises fill their ears as their heart thumps wildly. _Is this what it’s like to be a ninja? Do you get caught under bricks?_

Their muscles ache as the bricks seem to press down on them, harder and harder until they can’t breathe, they really can’t. Breathing. It’s such a simple concept. But that simplicity has been ripped from them, knocked away with soul crushing-

“Kid! I’m coming, I’m coming.”

A familiar voice? Jo’s not getting out; they’re trapped here. Tears stream down their eyes as they gasp for non-dust-tainted air. There is none. Where did it go? _Please come back, please, please, please._

Lungs, try as they might, simply can’t breathe nothing. Spots swim before Jo’s vision and the pain spikes. Ripples and ripples dance through their body, sending pain signals to every molecule. They whimper.

A ray peaks through, sending fresh air flooding in.

They can’t move, can’t do anything but gasp for air. And they’re not covered anymore! They feel warm liquid trickling from various open gashes, and as they cough, everything aches. 

The ninjas move to help, frantically asking where everything hurts (“ _you’re so brave, just like a ninja_ ”). But Jo’s just glad to be alive. _  
_


	10. "i'm sorry. i didn't know" - lego city adventures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> mention of a character losing an eye

Daisy glances across the campfire at the cowboy. He swirls a cup of coffee, then downs it, remaining mysteriously distant. Daisy respects the silence, but it’s a pity they’re wasting a chance for camaraderie on the cold night, alone in the abandoned warehouse.

She can think of several burning questions (mostly pertaining to hula hoops and why his code involves deseeding pumpkins), but she’s worked with him on so many cases, she figures she can ask him the one that brought them together.

“So, where were you from… before?” Immediately, Daisy regrets asking.

Snake nearly spits out his coffee. He frowns and shifts away from the fire. Daisy knows she’s just a guest, and probably nothing more than an acquaintance. Perhaps, she should leave before she digs herself into a deeper hole.

“I was from the West.” As if _that_ much isn’t obvious. Why has she never heard of a cowboy from the north? What if you live in the West, and a cowboy comes to your town? Are they from the Wild East? 

Now, she knows why he chose soda, but she never figured that soda was even a _thing_ in the West. 

“Too many cowboys used Nerf guns. I needed something more memorable.” She looks up to see him staring at her, reading her eyes from underneath his wide-brim hat. His one good eye almost looks like it’s hiding a barrage of tears, building up from far too much time spent alone.

He taps a can sitting at his feet. Where does he keep his sodas? What happens when they go flat?

He studies her like a wary child, still trying to figure out whether she would turn against him. To be fair, she’s done it once, when it violated her “code”. Ugh, now she’s sounding like him. Having a code complicates things.

“They didn’t take too kindly to being carbonated.” Crickets hum in the background as a log in the fire crackles. Smoke dances around the two, pulling them closer together. 

Over all the cases Daisy’s worked with Snake, she’s _never_ seen him look so upset. He blinks rapidly. Tears? Or pain. He rubs his eyepatch and suddenly, she understands. Their “dislike” cost him an eye. 

Why was being carbonated worse than being shot at by a foam dart?

“I’m sorry.” It’s all she can offer him right now. She doesn’t want to turn the conversation to one about her; he needs time to vent. She figures the loner hasn’t had many friends to confide in. Least she can do is listen.

“You didn’t know.” He shifts, the cobra uncurling from its defensive position. He almost looks more relaxed. “I reckon we both know something about being disliked.”

He pours them each another cup of black coffee. Daisy stares at it, barely making out her reflection.

“Partners?” He raises his cup, stretching across the leaping, lazy flames.

“Partners.” Her cup taps it with a soft clink, and the two thieves gulp down their drinks. Daisy swears she can hear a lonesome harmonica in the distance.


	11. "hallucinations" - ninjago

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> mention of death and spoilers for seasons 11 (Secrets of the Forbidden Spinjitzu), 12 (Prime Empire), and 13 (Masters of the Mountain)

The mirror glitches as the nindroid’s projector goes haywire, flipping between the various personas he’s used. The lives he’s lived. Some more memorable than others, some he wishes he could forget.

The lights flicker from the power surge. His memories can’t keep up with his systems. 

He’s sacrificing himself to protect his family from the Overlord. He’s commanding his dragon to freeze the Formling village. He’s recording Rocky Dangerbuff distracting the Sons of Garmadon. He’s giving half his power source to PIXAL. He’s pretending to be Clutch Powers to get into the Explorer’s Club. He’s tossing a pebble at Kai to show his approval.

But who is he?

_ I am the Ice Em-em-em-emperor. _

He doesn’t like this memory. The staff is frozen into his shaking hand, overwhelming nostalgia and madness perched on the edge of his lost thoughts. He rules the land unforgivingly; a traitor whispering tantalizing lies into his actions. Somewhere below his icy throne is a dungeon, where the captured wait for their escape. He’s waiting for someone, and no one at all. Where did they go, but who _are_ they?

_ I am ho-o-o-ome. _

Here, he sits at a table as food flies across the room. A gyoza slaps his cheek and slides down it, plopping in his lap. He’s surrounded by laugher and joy, a strange peace and love filling him like honey. Next to him, PIXAL brushes his shoulder lightly as she expertly aims a nigiri at Kai. Even as he tosses food back at his family, he doesn’t feel any hatred. There’s only love. 

_ I am Sna-a-a-a-ake Jaguar. _

Yes. This memory seems right, too. Haphazard wind whips through his hair as he races the gang through the subway. Formula surges through his circuits as Kilo pushes ahead. Mr. E silently passes him with a respectful nod. He revs the bike, pushing it dangerously, testing its unsatisfying limit and begging for more speed to outrun whatever he’s leaving behind. Why has he never had a motorbike before? 

_ I am Zan-n-n-ne. _

Oh. He has. When he wielded his golden shurikens and mastered their power to create a vehicle sustained by his mind and connection to his precious element. Before he saved his city without a second thought. Before he faced the Overlord and faded into oblivion, leaving the city with a thousand silver snowflakes. Why would he sacrifice himself?

The image stabilizes.

_ He was built to protect those who cannot protect themselves. _


	12. "who are you" - ninjago

Nya stares up at the folded gi on her unmade bed. Trying it on wouldn’t make a difference, would it? Just to see if it fits.

No. She doesn’t want it to fit. 

She looks back down at her redesign of the Samurai X gear and scribbles a note next to the schematic for the helmet. Four Weapons would have the forge she needs to repair some of the armor’s plating, but she’d need to stop in Ninjago City for some materials.

An uncapped pen rolls away to the abyss under the bed as she picks up and folds the list, callused ink-stained fingers rubbing against bumpy notebook paper. She stands and bumps against a pot of coffee, nearly tipping it over.

If she thinks too hard, she can almost feel the water inside sloshing around. Did she always know that?

No. She flicks off the light and leaves the room. 

Summer breezes send locks of hair flying across her face to stinging her eyes. From behind the shop, the scent of jasmine mingles with the lazy chirping cicadas and the rushing waterfall. If she stopped to drink the alive night in, even for a second, she might feel the individual droplets cascading over the edges of the rocks and splishing into the pool below.

Instead, she runs to the garage. 

The door creaks and shudders as it opens; stale gasoline stings Nya’s nose. She grabs the helmet from the top of the toolchest table near the door and walks to her motorcycle. Running her hands across the handmade bike used to spark pride, sending her a dancing reminder of what she accomplished. Now, the hours of sweat and mistakes seem dim. 

A moth falls to the ground, zapped by a dying lightbulb. She walks to the table and pulls a bulb from its drawers, then drags the ladder in the corner over. It’s a simple, repetitive project, taking the old lightbulb out and replacing it with one ready to take over. She slips the old bulb into her pocket.

The fresh light stings her eyes as she rests on the top of the ladder, surveying the room. In the corner, Jay’s project waits for his return under a shapeless, dusty tarp. Near it, an unfinished motorbike rests underneath another tarp, where dust hasn’t had the chance to settle. Various projects litter the rest of the room, ranging from mere concepts to completed works.

In her bedroom, the gi lies in wait. 

She climbs down and puts the ladder back. The garage door shudders as it closes; a trip is postponed for another day. Back outside, she walks over to the waterfall.

It couldn’t hurt to try, right?

She reaches out and focuses. Nothing happens. 

Her reflection gazes unhappily at her; her outline ripples with every new drop. She _feels_ it, she knows she does. Her fingers brush the top of the cool water. There’s nothing, and yet, a connection. She’s not empty, but not filled.

“Who are you?” 

The reflection doesn’t respond. It only echoes her question as she speaks it, directing it back to her. Does she have to be the one to answer it? She can’t take it back, now that it’s been said out-loud, even if no one else is there to hear it.

She looks back at the garage and remembers she didn’t sweep the moth away. The dead bulb rests patiently against her leg. She pulls her hand out of the water and shakes silky droplets from it, then turns back to the dark shop.

It couldn’t hurt to try on the gi. Just to see if it fits.


	13. "hiding injury" - ninjago

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> blood and hospital warning

Jay’s fingers brush against the wet spot on his gi as the others celebrate. He whoops as they decide on going to Laughy’s for a round of boba. Each step he takes is shaky. His head is woefully unbalanced. 

He climbs onto his bike and watches as his team ride off, squinting at their fading images. Their voices argue competitively through his headset. _I’m in last place_ , he thinks, as he tumbles onto hard concrete clutching his side, his vision fading into black.

_ “Jay! What happened?” _

_ He runs into the trailer sobbing hysterically, clutching his eyebrow. He knows he shouldn’t have used the drill without Dad but how else was he supposed to keep his present a secret? Ma pulls away his tiny hands and frowns at his eyebrow.  _

_ “I used the drill and I know I shoulda gotten Da but I had to keep it a su’pise is it bad?” Ma taps it gently and gives him a small kiss. She scoops him onto the counter and dabs at his wound. _

_ “It’s okay, Jaybird. There’s going to be a scar, but it’s okay.” She hands him an already well-loved stuffed animal and he clutches it, wailing into its plush. He knows she’s going to be upset and Dad will too. _

_ Patching it up as best she can, she carries him to the jalopy, Dad already sitting in it. They share a knowing look as he starts the car, and Ma does her best to cheer her little Jaybird up with a story about elementals. _

Jay blinks, staring up at his parents. Machines beep rhythmically and the white walls of the small room sting his eyes. His mother says something he can’t quite make out and brushes his hair aside with her rough, loving hand.

_ “Jay! You’re bleeding!” He stares at his hand as Nya tosses tools around the messy workplace. Sure enough, there’s a gaping gash. He wrinkles his nose. It’s already staining his shirt. _

_ Nya grabs his hand as she worriedly patches it, trying her best to be encouraging while chiding him for not being careful enough. He knows he probably should’ve put on gloves. But the pain hasn’t registered yet. _

Nya’s asleep at the edge of his bed, her hand holding his. The scar from years ago tingles. She lets out a tiny snore and he tries to laugh. But it hurts. Everything hurts.

_ “You need to take better care of yourself.” Zane patches his leg up with passive aggression as Kai watches, tapping an impatient finger. Nerf guns lay on an empty chair in the infirmary. Cole and Lloyd are left alone in the kitchen to deal with dinner. _

_ “It’s not a big deal,” Jay tries to explain, wincing as rubbing alcohol stings the edge of the gash. Zane raises an eyebrow but stays silent. _

Jay’s barely aware of everyone standing around him. He can’t open his eyes, but he can hear his teammate blaming themselves. He wants to tell them it wasn’t their fault. He wants to remind them it’s not a big deal.

Why would they fuss over a small thing? 

He doesn’t know yet how extensive the damage is.


	14. "i didn't mean it" - lego city adventures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snake's got a bit of a cold

All Daisy wanted was exactly one can of soda. Snake had told her where to find them: down the corridor and to the left; she was welcome to take from whichever refrigerator, and if she wanted black cherry, she’d find it in the door of the small one.

He’d _trusted_ her. She’d even go so far as to say they were friends.

By doing nothing but simply existing near his stash, reaching for the black cherry he knew she’d want, she’d caused an explosion of soda and sent cans foaming across the floor, streaking the walls with colorful, clear liquids.

All she can find are a few napkins and newspapers. She can hear him moving around outside, coughing from a nasty case of the sniffles. Now, she’d disturbed him from his rest!

“What. Happened.” Snake leans in the doorway, a tired, bloodshot eye glaring at her. 

Daisy hates it when Duke turns out to be right. She can’t do much to cover up the lake of syrupy liquid soaking into her shoes.

“I knocked one over and the rest fell.” His eye starts watering. “I’m so sorry.” She deserves to be yelled at, to be shunned and kicked out. She’d messed up his signature item, one of the things that made Snake such a memorable thief to those who didn’t know him better.

Which makes the silence even more painful.

He sneezes into his sleeve and leaves the room.

The sopping paper products drip into her shoes, forming permanent stains only the toughest detergent can get out. Another accidental explosion messes up another one of Daisy’s friendships. 

Clenching her fists, she wonders if Duke ever got over The Incident. The cleaning supplies fall to the ground, splashing a brown, fizzy puddle. _I need to ask if he’s okay._

She finds Snake sitting next to his campfire. The logs crackle as he half-heartedly pokes them with his metal pride. Sparks fly and send stinging smoke whirling into Daisy’s eyes, tempting them to spill.

If she hadn’t gotten to know Snake, she’d think the diamond tears streaming down his cheek were caused by the fire. Now, she knows _she_ caused them.

“I didn’t mean it.” She hovers awkwardly. “Stuff like that happens around me. Guess it’s in the name?”

He looks away, scrunching into a defensive ball.

“I’ll clean up the mess and give you some space.” She shuffles out of the room. In the hallway, tears start dripping down _her_ cheeks. She knows he hates her now.

If she can do anything to stop herself from riding into the sunset, even if it means facing Snake’s judgement, she’d do it. Daisy can’t lose another friend, even though she knows it’s already over.


	15. "run. don't look back" - ninjago

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dareth gets held at knifepoint
> 
> ft. some Ninjagian Ghost Lore (Soul Stones) that'll hopefully be explained some day in another fic

Dareth still isn’t sure if he likes hanging around Ronin. Sure, the guy makes better company than most think, but so far, every one of their gatherings has ended with some form of injury, feud, and/or probably illegal dealings. 

This time, Dareth stares down the shimmering blade of a butterfly knife. _First Spinjitzu Master, Ronin. Just give the kid what he wants._

“Okay. Wait here.” 

As if Dareth can do anything else other than study the desperate, black eyes of the emo biker currently dangling his precious, far too short life in exchange for a Soul Stone. Maybe if Dareth actually _knew_ what a Soul Stone is, he’d think differently. Judging by the name and the reaction, it can’t be good.

Ronin seems to be taking his good old time, searching through the back room Dareth has barely glanced into, other than to hide. Is it really that big? If Ronin thinks he’s going to save the day with some last-minute heroics, he’d better do so quickly. 

“Hurry up,” the kid growls. The knife inches closer to Dareth, nearly brushing against his gold star medallion. Why threaten _Dareth_ of all people? It’s not like he’s terribly close with the thief, even if he secretly daydreams of being called Ronin’s friend, knowing it’ll never happen, unless it’s too late.

But the more Dareth stares down at the short kid, studying his thin, almost ghostly face, he realizes how half-hearted the attempt is. Under a mask of courage and insensitiveness lies a little boy in need of a friend. Probably a family, too.

It seems to be a common theme with all of Ronin’s kids. (And even though Dareth doesn’t dare say it to him just yet, he knows the softness buried deep within the dad-in-denial’s heart would appreciate it.)

Wait a minute. _Dareth_ is good with kids too. “Hey. Do you want to talk?” 

The harmless gesture is met with another growl. Gloved, lanky fingers clutch the knife tighter. “I’m not here to make friends.”

Dareth shrugs, trying to pretend he doesn’t notice the pain streaming through the kid’s expression, playing out scenes that must’ve gone south and somehow led up to this moment. “That’s alright. Mind telling me why I’m about to die?”

“It’s none of your business.” Short answers are spat out. They reek with misery, hope barely breaking through the mask. This kid needs a friend. Or maybe he’s doing whatever _this_ is to help someone. There’s another trait shared with a majority of Ronin’s crew.

“As the hostage, I beg to differ.” Dareth leans against the counter. If he’s learned anything from these encounters, it’s that several of Ronin’s kids take a while to open up, often with good reason. He needs to play it cool.

Ronin emerges from the back room carrying a bulging leather pouch. “I don’t know exactly which one it is.” He pushes it across the counter. “All the ones I’ve collected are in there. I promise.”

Outside the shop, someone screams.

If the kid was the type to cry freely, this would be that moment. His eyes dart around, scanning the shop with an anguished sneer. The knife shakes, screeching slightly as it scratches against metal. “You betrayed me. You don’t have it.”

Ronin pushes it closer. “I don’t know if I do or not. Take the bag and run. I’ll cover you.”

Dareth scrunches against the counter as Ronin bends down. One steady eye levels with two vengeful ones. The screams grow louder, but everything seems muted and still, to the point where Dareth can hear the broken clock ticking.

“Morro.” Ronin stays steady as Morro debates, sneering and cringing and begging for help in a single microsecond. “Don’t look back.”

Morro grabs the bag and darts through the back room to the door waiting in the back. Dareth knows he’ll probably be back within the coming weeks, either to threaten Ronin again or to beg for help and love. He’ll probably mean both with an easily mistranslated action.

Ronin ducks under the counter. “Make yourself scarce.”

Obediently, Dareth shuffles off to leave the thief with whatever mess he’s gotten himself into. As he walks out to the hidden parking lot to see the fleeting image of Morro motorcycling off.


	16. "identity reveal (alt)" - ninjago

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> death mention

“You’re a Nindroid, like me.”

Sand swirls in Zane’s face, slipping into the cracks of his hardware. Fans whirl loudly, lowering his internal heating levels for the optimal icy attack. His fingers tinge with cold. 

Mr. E’s eyes meet his with a steady, challenging glare. His disconnected arm sparks on the ground, longing to be reconnected with the frayed shoulder wires. The remaining arm clutches a bloodred katana, raising it in warning.

“I am you.”

Zane blinks. It’s his voice but higher; innocence twisted with grief. It’s something Zane remembers from his earliest moments before the final debug program. 

“Jay and Nya never told you? Pity. I thought they could be different.”

Jay and Nya are kind, _good_. Though subject to the occasional memory loss (something even Zane could relate to), he’s positive they would’ve mentioned something about a second version of him. They would’ve been excited to have a second Nindroid, supporting Zane and his new family.

Yet the way Mr. E refers to them is as if they left him abandoned. 

“They _are_ different.”

Mr. E sneers, the katana raised higher. “They’re no better than Father.”

Zane flashes back to Cryptor on Day of the Departed. Somehow, Cryptor’s not only managed to acquire a soul, but also a body. The biker gang suits his personality well, but why would Jay and Nya make any difference?

They wouldn’t have built him a body. They know how much damage he inflicted on the world _and_ on Zane. They know he’s evil, lost.

“I would sooner call Cryptor my brother than you.” 

Zane clenches his fist. According to his database, PIXAL, Cryptor, the Nindroid army, and himself are the only _known_ nindroids. And PIXAL still lives in the _Destiny’s Bounty_ as its AI program. Unless.

“PIXAL has another calling.”

“Then who-”

“I am you.”

It doesn’t make any logical sense. Zane knows he’s himself, unless he’s been hacked again. His scan indicates no presence of malware or viruses, and he’s positive he doesn’t have a split personality. What did Jay and Nya do?

“It’s what they didn’t do that matters.”

Ice dances up Zane’s spine, sending an enhancer formula through his body, ready to react at the slightest shift. His scans indicate Mr. E won’t attack him. His scans indicate all is well. His scans indicate he’s awake. Is he capable of such a vivid dream?

“I was once your echo.” Mr. E opens a swinging panel on his chest, revealing Dr. Julien’s symbol. Just like on Zane, just like on the falcon. “I was created out of grief, an image to satisfy a dying man’s pain.”

“And now?”

Mr. E swings his katana. 


	17. "please come back (alt)" - ninjago

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> my OC Alessa makes an appearance alongside more allusions that would make sense if I had written her entire story first (also there's Stubbornshipping, Alessa x PIXAL :D)

Branches flail, smacking against the window like the hands of mourning widows searching for their loved ones. Wind howls through the trees, rattling against the thin monastery walls with muted screams. Pale white tinged with green streams on the bedroom floor in a circle.

PIXAL hates Day of the Departed.

Sitting alone on her Samurai X-themed bed, she sorts through miscellaneous parts for a new upgrade, trying to ignore the breeze rushing in through the crack in the window. It dances with the smoke of the candle before extinguishing the spark.

PIXAL lights it again. She plans to keep it lit for Alessa.

_ “I’ll be alright.” Alessa straightens her obi (sash) as PIXAL adjusts the eri (collar). Next to the candle lays a box of matches, an ominous ode to people gone. “I do this every year.” _

_ “Please be careful.” PIXAL studies their reflections in the mirror, two stern faces shouldering responsibilities. One chose her path, one didn’t. _

The monastery remains deathly quiet, the ninjas off celebrating with their families. Later, they’ll return for the annual bonfire and lantern-lighting, and somewhere just after dawn, Alessa will come back. 

A branch snaps and hurtles to the ground. Dead cherry blossom petals float after it, the last remnants of spring viciously torn from their families. Perhaps PIXAL should go to Yang’s Temple, just to drive her home.

No. Alessa told her to wait. 

PIXAL moves a screw from the nail pile with a frown. Her bed creaks as she carefully stands; the rice paper door whooshes open. The hallway remains dark, only illuminated by the soft green glow PIXAL’s eyes emit. She turns up their brightness to create a steady flashlight-like beam.

_ “Uh, why can I see through my hand?” Lloyd studies his translucent fingers, waving them in the air. Jay reaches over to them and his hand passes through. From inside Zane’s head, PIXAL scans his body, alerting Zane to the rapid pace Lloyd is succumbing to a ghostly state of matter. _

_ “Don’t you see?” Their silent guide – Alessa; a beautiful name – turns around, grey, soulless eyes piercing into Lloyd’s eyes. PIXAL studies her eyes, watching as patterns swirl darkly in them. “Green is a ghost color.” _

PIXAL finds one of Lloyd’s socks – a horrid shade of neon green – on his threshold. She kicks it back in his room and firmly closes his door. Alessa shouldn’t see any green when she returns and PIXAL plans to keep acting as the physical barrier between her and the Green Ninja for as long as Alessa needs.

Another branch snaps and PIXAL jumps. The floors squeak angrily when she lands. 

“Please come back,” she murmurs, breaking the thick, dooming silence.

The monastery is far too empty. 


	18. "i can't see" - lego city adventures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> fire

“Where are we going?” Duke tries feeling his way through the maze, but lost count of the twists and turns somewhere back at 13 lefts and 5 rights. Based on the smells, he’s somewhere near a coffeeshop, and the sounds suggest a parade.

He reaches up to fiddle with his blindfold and Daisy smacks his hand playfully. “You’ll see!”

“This isn’t illegal, is it?” His best friend’s been getting into criminal activities lately, mostly small misdemeanors involving minor explosions and picking locks. As a budding cop, he couldn’t imagine his 80th trip to the police station being exploring the cells as a criminal.

“Nothing of the sort,” Daisy assures him with a giggle. Cubby the Lion Cop’s voice reminds him to stay alert and to be ready to shoulder-roll out of any situation. Duke fiddles with the jingling handcuffs in his pocket, courtesy of a box of Tire-O’s and their monthly prize theme. A door slides open.

“SURPRISE!” Duke jumps. He listens as Daisy’s shoes tap around with an echo in a presumably large space. He can smell birthday candles- she remembered? “How do you like it?”

“I can’t see.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Daisy quickly undoes the bandana and Duke’s sight confirms what his other senses already (mostly) knew. It’s a miniature birthday party in an abandoned warehouse, with a picnic spread under a blanket fort. Cubby wrapping paper adorns a gift in the middle of it all. Despite the dim lighting, Daisy’s smile looks like it could brighten the room without the help of the flashlights and candles.

“Wow.” Duke’s never been one to celebrate his birthday by choice and can’t believe _Daisy_ even remembers it every year without fail. “Uh, thanks!”

“Just wait till you see what I got you! Better blow out the candles first, though!” She crawls into the fort with Duke at her heels. Before he can huff, the candle extinguishes with a trail of smoke. “No problem. I’ll light them again.”

The way Daisy wields the lighter somewhat maniacally scares Duke. She’s far too comfortable with fire without the presence of an adult and is mesmerized as it sprays tiny sparks. He reaches for the lighter. “Maybe I should light it.” 

“I’ve got it.” Daisy pouts and puts it closer to the candle, not noticing the napkin nearby.

“Daisy!” Duke’s too late; the napkin flares with fire and flames leap to every other flammable source nearby. Popping noises from old electrical crackle overhead as the fort, the birthday, and the warehouse start crumbling.

“Daisy! We have to go!” He grabs her wrist as she watches her surprise kaboom, tears flowing down her cheeks in steady streams. He pulls her away and out the doors, and slams right into Fire Chief Forge.

“Are you two hurt? Is everyone out?” He drags them farther away from the building and yells at two assistants for a pool floatie, bouquet of roses, and a wrench.

“We’re the only two and we’re okay,” Duke says, voice steady. Daisy whimpers.

“I messed up your birthday.” She turns to Duke as the fire swells behind her, illuminating the orange streak in her hair and darkening her outline. “And I burned down a warehouse.”

“It’s fine. I don’t see the point in birthdays anyway.” He shrugs it off and pulls out his sunglasses to shade his eyes from the catastrophe. “We probably shouldn’t have been in an abandoned, structurally unsound building without permission.”

Firefighters scramble around as a lifeguard professes their love for the repairman with the bouquet of roses, and in turn, the repairman fixes the old sprinkler system. As water gushes out, the repairman realizes he can’t swim, the lifeguard saves him, and the two drift away on the pool floatie. 

Daisy wipes a tear and the building pops, spraying rubble everywhere. She smiles as she watches everything soar. “It’s kind of beautiful, I guess.”

“Not at all.” Duke narrowly avoids a stray rubber duck and tries to ignore the passion sparking in Daisy’s eyes as almost everything around her lays charred or covered in soot.


	19. "sleep deprivation" - ninjago

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kai has part of a nightmare

Kai glares at the kitchen clock blearily, trying to discern the time through a thin film of sticky exhaustion forming on his eyeballs. He rubs them again; it doesn’t help much.

A headache pounds demonically.

He pours another cup of coffee – his fifth? His sixth? He can’t remember anymore – but even the nightmarishly black can’t keep him awake anymore. He swirls it absentmindedly, refusing to fall back into the-

_ The fire temple. Lava spills around him as sparks kiss his gi, soon fizzling out and leaving smoke to curl around him like wispy chains. He can barely breathe through the dense heat; the headache has quieted to a dull roar.  _

_ Somewhere inside the temple, Nya screams. _

He’s awake. Where’s… Where’s… His mother; no. His father? No. _Nya!_ Where’s Nya?

He jumps up, only to flop over the side of the kitchen island. Has the sink always been there? His head whacks the bottom of the faucet and in an ungraceful attempt to stand, his hand brushes against the handle. Water spurts through his hair and down his shirt.

“First Spinjitzu Master, _Kai_.”

Nya stomps over and turns the water off, then pulls her brother out of the mess he made. He stares at her, his appearance similar to a soggy rat. It would be hilarious, if this wasn’t the fifth time she’d found him like this.

He blinks slowly.

“You need to sleep.” Nya’s on the verge of slapping him. After he sleeps.

“I need to protest. Protech. Pro-. You’re my little sister.” His eyes close for a moment and his body relaxes. She’s about to carry him off when he jerks awake, mumbling incoherently. She places him on a chair and glances in the giant coffee pot.

For a group of five ninjas, it does the trick. For one sleep deprived hothead…. 

She pours the remaining liquid out, not that there’s much left, and puts the pot into the sink. Tomorrow, she should install a lock on the coffee grounds. She’s pretty sure she has some extra coffee in the Samurai X cave, for emergencies. 

“Where’s mom? I forgot how to turn the oven on.”

Kai’s eyes are wide and he’s shaking. He starts gesturing to the oven, trying to explain a recipe he can make for Nya when their parents are gone. He tries walking over it, only to crash on the floor and whine. 

“Okay, big bro.” Nya does her best to gently pick him up. “It’s time to sleep.”

Cole appears, yawning as if he can suck the contents of the fridge into his mouth from the doorway. He lifts a sleepy, shaggy eyebrow and shuffles out of Nya’s path, too tired to ask questions about why Kai is soaking wet. 

Nya deposits Kai into his bunk with another grunt and waves Cole and his tired concern away.

“I need Dad to tell me how to forge a daisho again,” Kai mumbles, trying to demonstrate his “technique”.

“They’re not here. Go to sleep.” Nya pats his head lightly, trying to remember the tune of the lullaby. The memory is dangerously faint, dancing out of reach. She can’t even remember the words, despite having fallen asleep to them every night for three years.

“I have to find them.” Kai attempts to sit up and forage around for his gi. Nya pushes him back sternly, trying to force the lump in her throat away. 

“No… you can’t find them. They’re gone.”

Kai snores a little, only to startle awake again. The siblings sit in silent darkness, neither daring to drift off to sleep. 

Their parents left so little behind; where did they go?


	20. "betrayal" - ninjago

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings include Cliff and Libber fighting (it kinda reminded me of some of the stuff my parents have said to each other), slight mention of alcohol and witchcraft, and Cliff looks around for some headache medicine
> 
> \----
> 
> I wanted to mention that both Libber and Cliff do a fairly-similar amount of shady stuff to save Jay, and there's arguments where the roles are reversed (so, don't be totally upset with Cliff). All this serves as backstory for an AU coming.... hopefully "soon"?

“Why would you do that.”

Cliff closes the door behind him, ignoring the question as rainwater drips from his clothes and pools in the dingy apartment’s entrance. Instead, he looks past her face to the bedrooms. The nursery door is closed. Good.

“Cliff.”

At the sound of his name, he involuntarily meets Libber’s stormy blue eyes. They crackle dangerously, rimmed with exhaustion on the brink of insanity. He stays quiet, glaring at her in silent rebellion. A headache pounds steadily in the back of his head, just out of reach.

She stands. Her nightgown rustles against the small kitchen table. “Talk to me.”

Why does she resist? Why does she insist on doing things on her own? She knows this is only way for them to be safe. Not happy. Only safe.

“ _Cliff_.”

Maybe Jay will be happy someday, blissfully ignorant of… everything. Everything’s wrong, so wrong. How much could a baby possibly remember? 

“Now.”

Can’t they go one night without refighting the same battle? He’s tired. He can’t keep this up much longer. But he has to, for _his_ son. “You were going to do the same thing. You just wanted to play hero and feel needed.”

He stares into her eyes, noting the red rimming them. Her voice shakes. “Bad answer.”

This is his cue to stop. To repent. But he can’t stop himself from lashing out. He shouldn’t have come straight home as if he’d be welcomed back with relief, as if he’d be praised for his sacrifice. “You know this is best for Jay. Stop fighting it.”

“Don’t lecture me as if I wasn’t there.”

Even if she was asleep, there are worse fates than crawling under thin, scratchy covers and brushing against his wife’s smooth, porcelain skin. She would’ve mumbled in her sleep, drooling on her poor excuse for a pillow, surrounded by her blueberry-scented golden locks like the dreams he had not that long ago.

Instead, her eyes blaze and expression thunders. “As if I wasn’t the one who _birthed_ him.”

If he could, he’d take Jay and run. Leave her to sort out her problems alone. He rolls his eyes and steals a glance at the nursery. Still quiet. “Here we go again.”

“Who found the _spell to save him_.” She stalks closer, ready to pounce. 

Can’t she let it go? They’ll have to move if anyone files another noise complaint. It’s useless arguing so often.

“Who sacrificed her _career, family, and stability for him_.” With each word, she maliciously pokes his chest, saliva spewing and stinging his cheek. At a foot shorter, she isn’t threatening. But her words?

He spits back. “Still pining after your career? I know you; if Jay wasn’t in the way, you would’ve made thousands on that movie. You want the crowds, the fame, the neon lights. You’re jealous that motherhood took them away.”

She slaps his cheek; the headache burns. “To keep him alive.”

He pushes her away and stomps into the bedroom, leaving her at the door. He doesn’t have time for this. Where’s the medicine cabinet?

She yells at him across the room. “You kept your career. You could’ve left me at any time, broken the promise we made in a futile daydream.”

“Save. The. Theatrics.” Jay starts whimpering and Cliff curses. If Libber weren’t blocking his path, he’d hide in the nursery and hold Jay tenderly. Jay deserves better than this. _Cliff_ deserves better. He’s Cliff Gordon, after all. Why is he stuck in a dump?

“Because you forgot to mention _you were cursed_!” 

Jay bawls, helpless cries undampened through cardboard walls. Cliff growls and slams the bedroom door behind him, wildly scanning the bathroom for something, anything, to make the nuisance tearing his head apart go away.

Libber punches the door and Cliff peeks out. There’s a dent that he’ll have to pay for.

On the other side, he can hear her cooing nonsense to _his_ son. The one he had plans for, great plans. The one he’d cross a thousand more dark alleyways for. The one he’d personally fight Death for. 

He’d believed a fickle promise from a ghost.

And Libber? She’s stuck to him with iron chains, fighting the same forces and dealing with the same spells. He can’t tell her to leave. They’re too far into the mess he created.

He finds the medicine.

She sobs in the other room.


	21. "torture" - ninjago

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> spoilers for ns13 (Masters of the Mountain), description of injury, and the torture is more mental than physical

Being suspended in a vengestone cage, with vengestone chains and no apparent means of escape, Lily finds herself daydreaming about the singer back home and his latest unreleased hit. The jazzy tones combined with romantic lyrics about flowers float around in her head alongside images of grassy fields and fresh dirt.

It’s beautiful. But fragile.

The lily-of-the-valley withers, its petals wrinkling as the sunshine turns to harsh onyx. The dew on its face drains. The fluffy dirt turns coarse and dry, roughly blown away by searing wind.

“Hello, Master of Earth.” The skull floats towards her, engulfed in unnatural green fire. It sends darkness, pure darkness, lapping over her bruised and bloody body. The lily crumbles.

Through cracked lips, she tries to croak out a snarky retort. It fades into a whimper as dark magic washes over her, sucking her strength and draining her elemental power’s protection. The tune fades into a funeral dirge.

“You tried to save the Geckles and Munce. Look where your kind heart led you.” Her prison shrinks, bending her body like a frail branch about to snap. Below, a dragon’s fire causes screaming; the burning flesh of innocent creatures stings her nostrils. She coughs violently.

“How long can you resist?” The skull dances around her, the hatred in its eyes taunting her. She growls. It isn’t even fazed; it only cackles. It morphs into her beloved, twisting his face menacingly.

“ _Why didn’t you come home?_ ” Lou’s voice is tainted by grief. “ _You left me so you could save the world. But what about me? Who will save me as I mourn?_ ”

“I-” Lily can’t finish. She struggles to breathe. The darkness replaces air, contaminating her thoughts and lungs, filling each with scenes of death and misery. She tries to carry them all, to not let them spill out. She’s the creatures’ savior; she can’t be weak!

“ _Worthless._ ” Wu spits at her. Morro, Libber, and Ray sneer down at her. The monastery’s courtyard stones are jagged and slice at her, sending blood streaming down her arms and splotching on her gi.

“ _How could_ you _save anyone, little girl_?” Tears blur her vision, but the voice needs no face. She’s five years old again sticking up for the weaker with nothing but determination and the strength from her element.

But both are stripped away, leaving Lily weak and alone.

The darkness melts away as the skull cackles. Below the dragon snarls, waiting for its next meal. Munce and Geckle shriek and chains clang behind them. The music and images are gone, leaving the lily to decay, suspended in vengestone.


	22. "burned" - ninjago

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's no death but there is fire

Flames dance across Kai’s fist, inching closer to the wooden bridge separating Nya and him. Once they touch, the ashes cascading down the pit below will draw a line neither sibling can repair on their own. 

And both are too stubborn to ask for help.

“Kai, please! I can help. Don’t leave me here.” Nya holds out a shaking hand, straining to reach across the divide, to pull Kai out of the hellish land he’s founded. Tears spill, manipulating time and sending her back to just after their parents left – abandoned – them. 

Two children left to fight demons they’d never known, to deal with the pains and aches of growing up, to carry on a legacy neither were ready to carry. The fog Kai tries to think clearly through turns black.

The flame crackles; the ticklish feeling on his palm stings.

He stares into his sister’s eyes and watches as they brim with terror. She’s panicking. How uncharacteristic. He’s seen this once before, when both realized they were alone with a silent forge. The birds didn’t even sing.

“Don’t leave me, please.” Her whisper barely floats across the bridge before falling at his feet. It waits. He can squish it; he can burn the bridge. Or he could pick it up and take Nya’s hand. He’s the big brother, her protector, and yet he debates her life as if what the mask offers is greater. 

The flame sputters. 

Her face softens. Her eyes are their mother’s, her tentative smile is too. Both are – were – saturated with gentle kindness that should never be tempted. Strains of their mother’s voice lace Nya’s, and her memory seems to uplift his sister.

But Kai holds his father’s image. His father’s words ghost around him, enveloping him mercilessly, cutting off any hope of fresh air not tainted with smoke. His actions, his legacy pull Kai’s arms like puppet strings. 

The fire that burns the bridge isn’t Kai’s. Just as the scream Nya unleashes isn’t hers.

“ _You are not your parents_ ,” someone once tenderly whispered to Kai. They once stroked his hair and plopped a gentle kiss on his forehead, before he blacked out with exhaustion. The sentiment brought hope, challenging Kai to be someone better.

It’s just a sentiment now. A forgotten memory burned on the wooden bridge, trampled under the inferno that incinerated any new beginnings. 

Kai grabs the mask at his feet and dons it, vengeance pouring through his veins. All the ties that slow him down are dealt with; he needs to find the other two bearing the gift and needs to see if they’ve dealt with their own messes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't know if the thing with burning the bridge was clear enough (hence the "no death" part of the note at the beginning), so for clarity's sake all Kai did was literally burn a bridge and Nya's safe (well, heartbroken, but "safe") on the other side


	23. "don't look" - ninjago

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the only warning I have is "mostly unedited"

Emperor Garmadon’s red eyes glint in the mirror, burning with devilish fire. Thin, onyx skin clings to bones, interrupted by wispy white lines. Rugged fangs form a grimace. 

“Lloyd? You in there, buddy?” Kai knocks at the door, pausing only for a second to listen. “Don’t tell me the sink got you.”

Lloyd’s clammy hands shake as he gasps for breath. When did breathing become so difficult? Why does it feel like the Oni Titan’s foot is pressing down on his chest as his father watches on, his face twisted in malicious victory?

Kai knocks again. The door muffles his voice, but the half-serious/half-joking tone of his comment jerks Lloyd out of his nightmare. “You better not be using all my hair gel unless you plan to pay for it!”

“B-be out in just a sec!” Lloyd hurriedly turns off the water and empties the sink. A forgotten toothbrush and puddle of toothpaste lays on the counter sadly. He picks it up, swipes the bristles in the puddle, and hurriedly scrubs his fangs- _teeth_ as a half-hearted attempt to fight cavities.

With his free hand, he grabs a blue towel and swabs up the rest. Oh, that’s Jay’s towel. The one he’s constantly reminded everyone to not use for random messes. And, oh no- the toothbrush handle is black.

Lloyd spits out the toothpaste and nervously tries deep cleaning it for a grand total of 30 seconds and hopes Cole (who’s strangely picky about germs despite always being the first to steal food from other people’s plates) doesn’t notice. Ignoring the mirror, he turns off the light and unlocks the door.

Kai frowns. “What took so long? You were in there for 15 minutes.” 

Lloyd chuckles nervously, avoiding Kai’s eyes. He’d been trapped in the illusion for _that_ long? It’s getting worse. “Ah well, made a bit of a mess with toothpaste and water.”

Kai half-smirks and ruffles Lloyd’s long hair. “Alright muchacho. I really hope that wasn’t _my_ toothpaste.”

Come to think of it, Lloyd’s mouth _does_ taste like cinnamon. At least he didn’t shower with Nya’s shampoo or wear some of Zane’s clothes. Even so, Kai’s strange look, the patented older brother “Something’s Wrong But Let’s See How Long It Takes You To Notice” stare, prompts Lloyd to check the window.

His reflection. It’s back.

The weight is back, he can’t breathe, and sounds are muffled. He’s vaguely aware of Kai calling his name, but all he can see and hear is Emperor Garmadon. Nothing else matters, except the dread crawling down his neck and the voice.

“ _Lloyd_.”

Everything turns black. The voice thunders across his thoughts, sending them spiraling into chaos. Lloyd sobs into the cloth covering his face, hiccuping at the lack of air. 

“Still seeing him?” Kai’s voice is far away, barely noticeable above the cackling ringing in Lloyd’s ears. Lloyd tries to push away, to face the reflection. Kai keeps him wrapped in a tight hug. “Don’t look.”

Easier said than done when the image emerges clearly every time you think you’re safe. A mirrored surface isn’t the only place to reflect nightmares. But Lloyd is the only one who can battle the voices in his head.


	24. "memory loss" - lego city adventures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> can you spot the Hilda reference?

_ The memory dances out of reach in the shape of a playful glowing orb. Tippy chases after it, following it through a series of doors. He opens each properly, as any doorman should, apologizing to the residents as he chases the memory.  _

_ It pauses in front of _ the _door, flickering taunts._

_ Tippy pauses, then cautiously reaches for it. It fizzles out and the door disappears, sending Tippy plunging into darkness. _

Tippy taps the image in the scroll, tracing the scratchy lettering decorating the sides. What _is_ it about? He should know this prophecy or the image, but instead it only haunts him in his dreams.

Someone knocks.

Improperly, he might add, as he calls out “just a minute!”. He quickly rolls up the scroll, placing it back in the safe behind his poster of changes in door styles. Locking the safe with a flourish, he rehangs the poster and walks over to his own front door.

On the other side is Harl, who beams with innocent devilishness. His overall is stained with grease and no doubt the bottom of his toolkit is filthy. Tippy tries not to groan as Harl prattles. “Hello Tippy! I couldn’t help but notice that your door handle was loose, so I just stopped by to repair it. I’ve gotten the outside knob, but was wondering if you’d kindly let me in to fix the inside knob.”

Harl jiggles both knobs for emphasis, and sure enough, the inside is loose as well. 

Tippy sighs, annoyed with his lack of attention. He should’ve paid more attention. What good is a doorman with a faulty door? “Alright, come in. Just don’t leave a mess on the rug; I just had it vacuumed.”

Harl cheers and begins working diligently, whistling a cheery tune over Tippy’s beloved soft jazz. 

One of Harl’s tools glints, reminding Tippy of the orb.

“Helllloooooo. Are you in there, Tippy?” Harl’s messy hand waves in front of Tippy’s eyes, roughly tearing him away from the image. 

Instinctively, Tippy whips out a handkerchief and cleans Harl’s hand. Harl giggles, then frowns. “Are you okay? Do you need tea? Transport to a medical professional? A comfier bed?”

Tippy waves Harl’s concern away as he walks into the kitchen to make some chamomile. “I’ll be alright, thank you. How’s the knob coming along?”

“It’s all finished! Also, I found a book of doorman history and thought you might like it! According to your borrowing history, you’ve been reading a lot about doors lately.” He giggles as Tippy frowns. Just how much does Harl know about him?

Still, he takes the book and thanks him, if only out of politeness.

The image on the first page. Suddenly, it’s as if he’s been handed the orb from his visions. He can’t believe it. For once in his life, he was Harled and the result was a massive breakthrough. 

“I can make you dinner, or fix your TV, or find you a better sofa, o-”

Tippy grabs Harl’s shoulders, and Harl squeaks. Meeting the other’s eyes, Tippy hopes his words ring with gratitude, truer than a 1950s doorbell. “You’ve just figured out the answer to my problem. Thank you.”

Harl blushes. “Aw, I’m happy to help!”

After waving Harl off, Tippy grabs a cup of tea and plops into his armchair. Shaking, he reopens the book to refresh his memory on Paradors. 


	25. "car accident" - ninjago

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> car accident and character deaths

On the side of the road stretching from Ninjago City to Stiix, there’s a mossy ditch overgrown with poppies and weeds. If one looks closely, perhaps spending the night like the Master of Wind did nearly a century ago, they’ll find auto parts from a few generations before Dr. Julien completed his miraculous work on a certain nindroid.

If curious, one will find the limp outline of a cow-like stuffed animal, now decaying and missing stuffing. A poppy grows next to it, where a child once sat, wailing in fear.

The child’s mother, a beautiful blonde with eyes like a lightning-streaked sky, once turned back to comfort her child. To brush his auburn hair and stare into his brilliant azure eyes with as much peace as she could muster in the frantic moment. To calm him with a little ditty about a “Jaybird”. To smile wanly at his grin peppered with missing teeth.

The child’s father, an actor of an ancient franchise now resurrected with newfangled stage effects and a more confusing plotline, once gripped the steering wheel, clutching it as if it could save him from the inevitable. Everyone dies. Most try in vain to escape it.

The wheel rests against a stone, tangled in tall grass and another poppy.

When the engine swarmed with flames, pouring smoke into the driver’s vision and obscuring the ditch, he knew it was his end. So did his wife, although she imagined living much longer, using her element to star roles in the black-and-whites, and one day passing the lightning on to her beloved son.

Their son? Through the tears and the bliss of childhood innocence, the blurred events of the weeks prior might’ve clicked. 

In his final moments, he might’ve understood the delicate balance between the lands of the living and the ghosts, and that he was the victim of two parents who thought they could keep him from succumbing to his end at childbirth.

It’s of equal chance that he might’ve passed unaware, confused as many children are upon meeting darkness, still not understanding how fragile his life truly was and that his parents were running from an ancient force few challenge and defeat.

Perhaps as they lay in the wreckage drifting away from broken bodies, they were granted a moment to whisper a fleeting “I love you” or reach for each other’s hands as one last act of love before dying together peacefully.

Perhaps death ripped them from their bodies mercilessly, laughing away their begging protests and cries of agony as they suffered the consequences of a reckless spell cast four years prior to that day.

No one knows. They were found much later, their remains attacked by wild creatures that once roamed the Ninjagian island freely. 

Perhaps the blue eyed, auburn haired boy found weeks ago wandering a junkyard carries an answer, but for now, the story can only be speculated by reporters and conspiracy theorists still enchanted by the works of Cliff and Libber Gordon and their baby, Jay.


	26. "recovery" - ninjago

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> just going to put it out there that I did not write the lyrics in italics; they're part of a lullaby named "Hush Little Baby"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> character death, some description of medical stuff and illness

_ Hush, little baby, don't say a word. _

_ Papa's gonna buy you a mockingbird. _

Cole stares up at his mother's soft face, chubby little fingers reaching to touch her hair. She smiles and coos at him as Lou stares at the two from the doorway. Cole giggles and reaches for his father, who walks over beaming.

His parents share a shy kiss and Cole giggles again, snuggling closer. He doesn’t want to be the center of attention, but he doesn’t want to be forgotten either. Nestled between the two, his eyes start closing, ignoring his mother’s raspy breathing.

_ And if that mockingbird won't sing, _

_ Papa's gonna buy you a diamond ring. _

Cole’s playing in the backyard. Lily lovingly gardens, pointing out each weed and naming each plant, pausing to rest every few minutes. Cole catches a worm, and she shows him where to put it. She praises him as he gently plops it in the hole and watches as wriggles.

She reaches up to brush a stray lock of Cole’s hair, but pauses to study her fingers. Cole shows her his, also caked with dirt. The two laugh as strains from Lou’s music session drift through the air alongside the birds. 

Lily scoops Cole up and dances with him barefoot in the churned dirt until Lou joins them.

_ And if that diamond ring turns brass, _

_ Papa's gonna buy you a looking glass. _

The suit scratches Cole’s chin. He’s no stranger to dressing up, it’s a standard for attending his father’s performances in the ritzy theaters, but he still wishes the photograph could be over. 

He’s sitting off camera as his parents pose together, each stern-faced. Even so, a faint smile curves the edges of his mother’s mouth and his father’s eyes twinkle. Lily sits in a straight-backed chair and Lou stands as the flash goes off.

Afterwards, she coughs a bit. It’s not quite reason for concern. But still, Cole’s heart stops until she finishes.

Given permission, Cole races toward them and hops into his mother’s lap. The photographer gestures for them to slip into their preferred positions and Lily playfully pokes Cole’s side to remind him not to slouch.

_ And if that looking glass gets broke, _

_ Papa's gonna buy you a billy goat. _

Lily walks into the house, her dressing gown swishing. Cole and Lou are in the music room, Cole practicing piano under Lou’s no-nonsense tutelage. She waits until the song finishes to clear her throat.

Lou frowns at the sleepy cat cradled in her arms as Coles eyes widen. He smiles and leaps up as Lou tries to warn him that they’re not keeping the cat. As Lily smirks, the cat is named Rocky.

_ And if that billy goat won't pull, _

_ Papa's gonna buy you a cart and bull. _

Cole watches as mountain scenery blurs lightly as trees blend into each other, tracing the patterns in his mother’s traveling dress. Small suitcases sit above their heads, jolting as the train slows down for another stop.

His parents are deep in a discussion about various sights around the Jade Theater, trading tidbits with the bandmates in the car. Cole leans into his mother’s side. She’s been healthier, not as frail. The doctor recommended fresh air, and perhaps, just perhaps….

She strokes his hair with thin fingers, like a gentle reminder to not get ahead of himself. 

_ And if that cart and bull turn over, _

_ Papa's gonna buy you a dog named Rover. _

Cole sneaks down the hall and sneakily peers around the corner. A jazz record plays and his parents sway to it, speaking nonsense to each other. Cole smiles as his father carefully dips his frailer mother.

The smile fades as her skin hits the light; it hangs tightly on her bones, without vibrance or life to it. The little blush on her cheek from the “scandalous” dancing – she jokingly reprimands Lou – is poor substitute for a healthy glow.

She coughs violently and Lou begins to panic. She raises a hand to signal that everything’s okay, but it doesn’t stop the tears from falling as Cole races off to his bedroom.

_ And if that dog named Rover won't bark _

_ Papa's gonna buy you a horse and cart. _

Cole announces his entry with a steady knock on the door and his mother looks up from her magazine. She smiles and jokes that his hair needs to be cut. Normally, Cole would respond by jokingly hiding his hair.

But now, her thin frame laying against the bed, peppered with tubes meant to keep her from death…. Cole doesn’t want to sob and upset her; the joke he responds with is halfhearted. 

_ And if that horse and cart fall down, _

_ You'll still be the sweetest little baby in town. _

Cole clutches the flower as he scrunches in the corner of his bedroom. Rocky lays peacefully in the sun, enjoying the warmth of the natural light. To Cole, it feels cold. The lily flower is a measly symbol for the love of his mother.

Lou emerges in the doorway, dressed in somber black. Cole stands obediently and gently scratches Rocky on the way out, not ready to see the mourners assembled for the memorial.


	27. "i wish i had never given you a chance" - ninjago

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> mentions of dehydration but not?

Wu sobs, tears pouring through his fingers and snot dripping onto his clothing. 

Garmadon holds the jar away from him, scowling. “If you aren’t prepared for the consequences, then don’t come.

Wu sniffs and tries snatching the jar, his height causing him to miss. “I want to come, but what if Father finds out? He told us not to go to the village without his permission.”

Garmadon shrugs and walks away. “You’re such a crybaby and rule follower. You’d have more friends, and maybe even _Misako_ would notice you, if you did something rebellious every now and then.”

Wu stomps, the impact shuddering through his ankles. He should tell Father that Garmadon’s going out, even though the older boy is grounded. He should tell Father that Garmadon made plans with _Wu’s_ crush and “borrowed” the Jar of Bones to impress her.

But what would Misako think? 

_ Girls love a rebel _ , Wu remembers Garmadon saying as he leaned on the door frame. The Devourer’s venom had glistened in his eyes, shining as a dreadful reminder of how _weak_ Wu was. And still is.

Studying his messy reflection, Wu tries his best to clean himself up. He’ll need a new gi, but not too new. He scrunches his nose and closes his eyes, picturing Garmadon’s lesson in impressing crushes.

No. Wu swats the image away. Garmadon may be older, but he’s as knowledgeable as Wu about romance. After all, Father would never let their relationships get in the way of their training, especially Garmadon’s with the corrupted venom coursing through his veins.

Wu settles for blowing his nose, then trudges out the door and sprints to catch up to Garmadon. 

“You changed your mind,” Garmadon observes, his tone more annoyed than impressed. He clutches the jar defensively.

“I can break rules.” Wu puffs out his chest and straightens his posture.

“I’m not helping you if you cry about it in the morning.” Garmadon faintly snickers at the comment. Wu grumbles. 

“That was one time.”

“Are you coming, or not?”

The two boys trudge down the dusty, stony path, the house of the First Spinjitzu Master behind them and an afternoon filled with possibilities in front of them. On either side of them, the grass crackles in the dry heat and a bead of sweat trickles down Wu’s neck.

Maybe this was a bad idea. What if they get caught? What if Father gets upset? The nausea from heat and doubts swirls in Wu’s stomach, flushing his cheeks with nervous warmth. The crests of the fishing lake in the distance glint in the sun, sparking an idea.

“I’m hot. Can we get something to drink at the lake?” Wu pauses and points to the shimmering water. Most of it has evaporated by now, but some still waves lazily. 

“No, we’ll get some in the village.” Garmadon continues walking, ignoring Wu’s groan. His sweaty face rests in determination, eyes scanning the horizon. The back of his gi sticks to his pale skin.

“What if we dehydrate? We can’t visit Misako if we’re half dead.” Wu skids in front of Garmadon, trying to capture his attention. He points at the lake vigorously. _Please don’t figure it out. Please don’t figure it out._

Garmadon huffs. “If you want a drink so badly, get it yourself.”

“But you’ll need some too!” Wu realizes too late that his statement was too zealous and frantic. Garmadon’s eyes narrow, then he snorts.

“Already scared? Really, Wu; I expected better.” He sneers and pushes past, almost knocking Wu over. The cover of the jar rattles in his hand and the bones inside jingle dully. He mumbles something Wu knows is rude.

“Don’t you care about Father’s rules? About the consequences of breaking them? Father might not realize we were gone if we head back now and-”

“Don’t lecture me about breaking Father’s rules.” Garmadon’s eyes flash with red, sweat pouring down his neck. Wu cringes at his feverish complexion and the now more visible faint purple veins crawling down his neck. “I wish I had never given you a chance.”

More tears well in Wu’s eyes. He forces them away. “Father told me I need to be there to stop you when you’re waltzing into trouble. I’m trying to help you.”

“Father this, Father that. When will you ever learn to think for yourself? What about your own destiny?” The jar lid slips off and shatters on the ground, pottery littering the pathway.

“Father’s looking out for me and he’s _wise_.” The tears spill out whether Wu wants them to or not. He swallows, but the lump in his throat makes it hurt. 

“Boys, boys!” Their father dashes out and stretches hands out to separate them. It’s useless as insults fly instead of punches. 

Wu’s mind whirls as Garmadon’s tirade batters his wimpy defenses. _Weak, weak, weak. Think for yourself. Unworthy child._ Wu screams and covers his ears to block out the noise. The First Spinjitzu Master pulls him away, leaving Garmadon to calm down in the summer’s sun.


	28. "you have to let me go" - ninjago

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> compression, injury, and some dark magic all taking place in a lovely nightmare

_ PIXAL realizes she should’ve turned off her dreaming capabilities before powering down for the night. At the very least, she should’ve moderated the scenario.  _

She stands in the middle of clouds, fog hovering in wave-like clumps over stony ground. Her foot brushes against a metallic design in the floor and she crouches down to touch the tarnished gold surface.

_ LOCATION ANALYZED: MONASTERY COURTYARD _

Some of the fog rolls away, revealing more of the cracked ground. She can barely see the outline of the monastery looming in the distance. As dread settles upon her heavily, coating her vision with cautious red and resting upon her body ready to choke her, she reaches to turn on the training equipment.

Her hands ghosts through the button hidden under the stone dragon statue in the corner. Something’s not right.

_ SCANNING… _

The ground rumbles, and the tops of the equipment begins to emerge. Dust cascades through the air, mixing with the fog and obscuring her vision.

_ SCANNING… _

Five translucent green figures float through the holes, wicked grins plastered on blurred faces. Ragged cloth makes up for clothing; the see-through skin reveals no bones except teeth. Ghostly thorny vines poke through their bodies like muscles. Each bears a different weapon, but PIXAL knows each are skilled with their chosen method of destruction.

_ SCAN COMPLETE: GHOSTS DETECTED _

Behind them, the fog clears to reveal a single aeroblade covered in vines, resting on an ancient wooden pedestal, dripping with water. It taunts her from the other side, pulsing with white elemental energy. 

PIXAL analyzes the situation, trying to reveal the quickest path through Yang’s students. The easiest option would be to talk to them or have Alessa deal with them. The second easiest would be for Nya to defeat them. 

Unfortunately for PIXAL, she doubts her dream would allow her to have the upper hand. Unfortunately for the students, PIXAL’s fine with taking the hard way.

She pushes the warning notifications aside and attempts to front flip over the group. In theory, she’ll land on the other side. In practice, the center student grabs her leg and redirects her back to her original position.

The pain is unnecessary when she’s tossed into the wall. For a panicky moment, she almost passes through. So far, her left shoulder and corresponding hand are out of commission, although only someone particularly powerful should be able to deal that much damage.

She tries pushing through the line, aiming to run past the two ghosts on the right. They solidify at the last second, sending PIXAL stumbling back. She throws a punch at one, only to have it blocked. 

One of them chants and vines wrap around PIXAL’s limps, pulling her to the ground. The blade in her arm refuses to pop out, blocked by the thorns scratching her shell. Another word spoken in the language of the dead, a dialect now mostly lost, and PIXAL’s held against the wall.

A blade scrapes her cheek, sparking against her exoskeleton. 

The center ghost starts transforming, their clothes solidifying into a scraggly black kimono. Vines lace around their body, all stretching upwards like puppet strings. Their face is hidden by long-

PIXAL knows that hair. She brushes it every night and ends the ritual with a soft kiss on the scalp. The memory pushes the smothering scent of incense towards her. PIXAL’s defense systems start shutting down.

Alessa’s head jerks up, her eyes unnaturally green. _Green is a ghost color_ , Alessa reminds PIXAL softly, the memory related to an incident that almost seems like ancient history now. The round, somber face is twisted in a joyless smile, the glass of her classes cracked.

The only tear allowed to escape glistens on her cheek before staining the kimono as Alessa lifts points a shaky finger at PIXAL. 

The vines tighten, squishing PIXAL into the wall. Her body screams with pain, exhaling furious steam, sending notifications of failing systems interrupting her trains of thought. Her blades can’t cut through magic vines.

Only the aeroblade could. Or Alessa.

“Alessa. Please.” PIXAL’s voice cracks, barely heard as vines lace around her mouth. The figure continues pointing, unaware of what she’s doing. PIXAL needs to cut the vines, both around herself and her beloved.

_ ERROR. _

She strains against the force only to have them push harder. She begins to crumple in the back, folding like a miserable tin can. She tries pleading, singing, repeating the words Alessa _told_ her would work if she was ever compromised by possession magic.

_ ERROR. _

She tries reminding her of memories, some sweet and some stinging. Her vision turns red as the crushing reaches her core systems. All she can muster is a soft whimper as she begins to shut down. _Alessa, please._

The voice that responds to the final plea isn’t her beloved’s. “You have to let me go.”

_ ERROR. INITIATING PRESERVATION SHUT DOWN. _


End file.
